


Gifts from the Heart

by wumbo_requiem



Series: The Most Brutal Time of the Year: Dethmas [3]
Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Christmas Presents, Gen, It is so cheesy bro., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28283553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem
Summary: Charles and the boys exchange gifts on Christmas morning. Pickles has something special in store for him.The second part to Baked with Love and Sprinkles!For The 12 Days of Dethmas - Dec 24: Time for presents!
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer
Series: The Most Brutal Time of the Year: Dethmas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052465
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Gifts from the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays MTL fandom! Wherever you are, stay safe and have a good one \m/ <3

Charles hadn’t meant to eat all of those cinnamon buns. He had meant to share some with his assistant and the secretary, but he just kind of got snacking on them during work and, well, now they were gone. They had been ridiculously good, even a day or two old. He bumped up his pace on the treadmill a few notches to balance it out.

The next few days after Pickles’ visit were business as usual. But Charles felt a certain warmth surrounding him at work. This year he actually had something to look forward to, and even allowed himself to feel hopeful. Not for a great gift or anything, he could care less about that, but hopeful for a nice time with the boys. 

On Christmas Eve, he realized once again that he didn’t have anything special for Pickles. He had something for each of the boys, Hot Topic gift cards with a balance of $100 each (he knew they secretly enjoyed shopping there- he  _ knew  _ where Nathan got his black nailpolish from, and he didn’t forget about those cat ears Toki had bought a while ago). But knowing that Pickles specifically had something for him, he felt like he had to be equally thoughtful.

Now, acquiring an additional gift wasn’t going to be a problem, even tonight. Charles could order anything from anywhere in the world and have it flown to Mordhaus almost immediately. Such was the power he wielded. What he lacked was  _ ideas _ . Again, what did you even get a guy like Pickles, let alone  _ the _ Pickles The Drummer? He knew he liked to drink, but that somehow didn’t seem like an appropriate gift (plus: Mordhaus was already stocked full of each member’s preference). As for Pickles’  _ other _ interests… Well, Charles wasn’t going to be an enabler of any sort. The gift had to be something from the heart, which he wasn’t any good at.

He began ripping apart the office itself for something,  _ anything _ remotely gift-like. He had piles of fancy stationary- would a handwritten card do? There was an abundance of pens- oh, that was a terrible gift, forget it! He was coming up blank and starting to panic.

Until, he opened the final desk drawer. Oh, how had he forgotten about this old thing? It sat on top of a pristine stack of printer paper, untouched since Charles had put it there. He picked it up and turned the smooth metal over in his hands, contemplating if giving it away was the right thing to do. It was an heirloom passed down to him from a family he had cut most connections with, and it wasn’t like he ever wore it. Was it… hmm, he hated to use the band’s type of terminology, but was it  _ gay _ if he gave something so utterly sentimental to Pickles? In the end, he decided to stop overthinking it, and slipped it into a little box where it would rest until morning. He slapped a little label on it, scrawled out  _ TO PICKLES FROM C.F.O. _ on it in black pen, and that was that. 

It sat on his bedside table while he slept. 

_____________________

  
  


Fresh snow had fallen outside of Mordhaus, and Charles didn’t bother changing out of his pajamas. It was Christmas morning at last. The CFO slipped on a sensible pair of slippers, threw his robe on over his pajamas, and put his glasses on. Then, he gathered the presents; the little black boxes containing each band member’s gift card, and that special red box that he put deep inside his robe pocket.

He washed his face and hair, and almost hesitantly made his way to the living room, where the gigantic tree was decked out from top to bottom. The boys were sitting around the front of it expectantly, all wearing their ugliest Christmas sweaters. It was like waking up to a bunch of excited children who’ve been up since God knows when. 

“Hey, Charles is here!” Nathan alerted the others as he signalled the manager over with a big wave. The others followed the singer’s gaze and waved at him, too. 

Charles wrapped his robe tightly around himself and joined them, preferring to stand rather than stoop with the rest of them. Pickles shot up to greet him.

“Hey Chuck, ya made it!” The impact of the smaller man’s hug caught him off guard, as did the general warm reception he was getting from all the boys. He patted Pickles’ back awkwardly until the man peeled himself away.

“Can we gets into the presents alreadies?” Toki asked, bouncing up and down in excitement. Skwisgaar nodded his head in agreement. 

“Yeah! Let’sch open these babiesch up!” Murderface said.

Charles gave them all a confused look. “Were you all waiting for me? I wasn’t going to stop you from opening your gifts, you know.”

Nathan laughed suddenly. “You’re our Santa.” The others just looked up at him with expectant grins. 

Oh. The warmth that Charles felt then came from within, and couldn’t be explained away as a result of him wearing too many layers. At that moment, his boys felt like  _ his boys _ again. Toki, now a man in his mid-twenties, looked every bit a child as he did when he joined the band. The others looked happier than he had ever seen them. What had come over them to get so into the spirit, he didn’t know, but they were depending on  _ him _ now to keep it going…

“Oh! Well then, uh, we better get started. Here,” he said, pulling out the black boxes and distributing each one, “we’ll start with these while I sort out the rest. They’re from me.”

The presents under the tree were numerous and expertly wrapped, so much so that he suspected the work of some Klokateer, and he bent down to take a look at the tags immediately. He could hear little gasps of surprise - feigned or not - behind his back as the band discovered their gifts. It brought him a little smile that they didn’t see. 

“Wowee Charles! You didn’ts hasta does that for us!” Toki said, obviously pleased.

Charles turned around coolly, a bunch of presents stacked in his arms. “Oh, it’s not much. I just thought you boys could use a little fun.”

“Perschonally,” Murderface piped up, flipping the card between his fingers, “I dunno what I’m going to buy with it, asch I’m not a Hot Topic guy, but it’sch the thought that countsch.”

Pickles leaned over and flicked one of the buttons on Murderface’s vest, which he wore over his sweater. “Where’d ya get this then? Tsk, Misfits pin- looks pretty Hot Topic ta me,” he teased.

“Ja, Mordorface, just admits you wants to shops at Hot Topicks likes de rest of us. They gots some pretty cools shirts,” Skwisgaar admitted nonchalantly.

“Yeah man- these are cool, Charles,” Nathan said, “thanks.”

“Ah, glad you boys like them. Really. Why don’t we break into these, shall we?” His arms were starting to get heavy from holding the other boxes. He handed one to each of the members. Their greedy hands snatched them from him so fast he thought he might lose a finger.

Wrapping paper flew in every direction. Skwisgaar and Pickles had the thought to crunch theirs up into balls at least, so cleanup would be easier (or perhaps they were making projectiles to throw at each other later, who was to say). Either way, the floor was a mess.

“Wowee, you guys  _ didn’ts _ !” Toki squealed. He hugged a box tightly to his chest. “Ams de eggsact models I was hopin’s for!”

“Wells, you only talkeds abouts it every days since Novembers,” Skwisgaar said.

Evident by the tag, they had all pitched in on that one. Charles thought it was sweet that they listened to him for once.

“Woahh,” Nathan said, pulling out a paperback. “This is all about, like, the ocean and stuff.” He flipped through it, mouth dropping at pictures of sharks and carnage, from what Charles could see. “Fucking sick, dude. Thanks, Pickles!” 

“Yer welcome, dood! You must’a burned through the whole ocean section’a the library by naow, figured that was somethin’ that’d hold yer interest.”

It seemed that Pickles was a pretty thoughtful gift giver, and Charles kept that in the back of his mind as he returned to the tree. A part of him was impatient to see what the drummer had gotten him. But because he was a good fake Santa Claus, he would save his own gift for last.

He doled out the rest of the gifts, and there were some really great ones. Murderface received a miniature model set based on some battle he knew all about, Skwisgaar got a whole whack of picks with cool prints that he seemed to cherish immediately, and Pickles seemed conflicted over getting a pipe resembling a pickle.

Somehow, the band had all gotten each other mugs of their own skeletal faces. It was a neat idea, and Charles was impressed by their coordination until Toki opened his, and it was a Skwisgaar shaped one. He looked at it with a frown.

“Amnt’s this supposed to bes my face?” He asked Skwisgaar.

The blond shrugged. “I thoughts we was buyings for ourselves, so I gots a me-one insteads of a you-one.”

So there were two Skwisgaar mugs and no Toki mug- Charles wanted to smack his head, but Toki seemed to love it all the same, and he could only laugh good-naturedly at them.

Eventually they were done with the presents, and the boys wanted to have breakfast. There was still one present beneath the tree.

“You guys go ahn ahead!” Pickles called. The others weren’t even  _ thinking _ of waiting for him as they bounded toward the kitchen, pushing one another out of the way. Pickles chuckled and then turned to Charles. “Kids, amirite?”

Alone with Pickles and suddenly very aware of the present weighing down his pocket, Charles gave a half-smile as his answer.

“Are ya gonna open it or what?” Pickles asked with a quirked brow, pointing at the last gift under the tree.

“Oh, ah, right!” Charles grabbed it and sat down to open it. Pickles scooted close to him on the floor, eagerly awaiting his reaction. 

He tore carefully into the wrapping paper. It was a medium sized gift and kind of heavy, and he wondered what it could be. 

“Go ahn! Open it!” Pickles cheered, as if he wasn’t going fast enough.

“Alright,” Charles laughed, “I am.” Then he opened the flaps of the box, and pulled out something smooth and made of glass. Upon lifting it out, he saw that it was a lava lamp. He looked at it, kind of confused as to what had inspired Pickles to get him this.

“Do ya like it? It’s red- it’ll go with the office! I figured ya liked lamps since you gaht a laht in there and, I dunno, thought I kind of  _ owed _ ya one…”

Pickles looked kind of nervous, and Charles figured it was because he wasn’t giving much of a reaction. He smiled and put the lamp aside. It really was thoughtful, and Pickles had kind of been on the nose about the lamps.

“I really like it, Pickles. It’s sweet. Ah- it’s a sweet lamp. A sweet-ass, kickass lamp.” That wasn’t the way  _ any of that _ was supposed to come out, and Charles wanted to bury himself in wrapping paper and curl up beneath the tree. He still had his present to give.

“Glad ya think so, chief. I can help ya set it up later, if ya want?”

Charles almost automatically declined. He figured he could manage setting up something so simple you just had to  _ plug it into a wall _ by himself, but then he realized Pickles wasn’t offering because he thought he needed actual help.

“Oh, ah, sure! How ah, thoughtful.” 

Charles dug into his robe pocket. He could already feel his heartbeat changing and the heat rushing to his cheeks. He dug out the little red box and, fiddling with it nervously one last time, handed it to Pickles.

“This is for you,” he said, although that was obvious. “I’m not sure it’s something you’ll like but-” he stopped himself short, and watched Pickles open it.

The man’s face was surprised as he pulled out the thin metal chain, from which a circular gold metal locket lazily swung.

“Charles… this is beautiful. Ya got this fer  _ me _ ?” 

Charles swallowed. “Ah, well, it was passed down to me, but it’s yours now.” He remembered the little script he had mentally prepared: “Open it.”

Pickles did so, and looked up at him in confusion.

“There’s nothin’ in it.”

“Correct. It’s so that you can, ah, use it however you like. Make your own memories, put something in there that’s important to you,” he explained. He felt silly, and was withstanding the urge to just run and hide, but the gift couldn’t be taken back now. Pickles’ hand curled over the gold locket and he brought it to his chest, then he pulled Charles into a tight hug.

“That’s  _ byootiful _ , dood. Thanks a laht.” 

There was a genuine, and inexplicable happiness in Pickles’ voice, and Charles shyly reached around the man to hug him back. He exhaled in relief. That didn’t go  _ half as bad _ as how he was imagining it would go in his head. All the anxiety he’d felt the night before had been for nothing.

“You’re welcome, Pickles,” he said, patting him and withdrawing. “Merry Christmas.”

“Heh, Merry Christmas, Charles.”

_____________________

  
  


Charles had ended up taking the rest of the day off after all, and in the end, he believed that was the right thing to do. This was the happiest Christmas he’d had in a very long time, and he was more than willing to spend it watching old movies and decorating gingerbread houses with his boys if it meant they wanted him around. He could have cried during the delicious turkey dinner that was whipped up for them, but he would save the emotions for when he was alone in bed, if he couldn’t push them down and move on entirely by then.

At the end of the day, he and Pickles found their way into the office. Both had had their share of spiked eggnog, and it took both of them to carry the lamp safely inside. They put it on the desk after nearly dropping it a few times.

“Crisis averted!” Pickles laughed, wiping his brow with his armband.

“Whew. Alright, lemme go plug this in,” Charles said. He got to work unraveling the cord and found the nearest outlet on the wall. As he plugged it in, the room went totally dark, and he made a soft noise of surprise.

“Woopsies,” Pickles said from somewhere across the room, getting closer as he spoke, “guess we kinda forgot to turn that thing ahn.”

“It would appear so.”

Charles felt his way back to the desk. His hand slid up and down the cord, feeling for the power switch, and landed on Pickles’ hand instead, which switched it on.

Both their faces were lit up in the soft red glow. Charles swallowed, his senses too overloaded for him to recognize to move his hand, and he kept it there, dumbstruck. He looked at the lamp, wherein the “lava” was sitting in a mound at the bottom.

“It takes a minute to warm up,” Pickles said softly, “wanna wait fer it together?”

Charles nodded wordlessly. When he regained control over his hand, he removed it and shoved both directly into his pockets. He sat down at his desk chair.

“Go on, ah, have a seat, if you’d like to stay,” he offered.

Pickles rounded the desk and, to Charles’ surprise, climbed in right beside him, on the same large, comfy chair. Their thighs were pressed together, but there was room for both of them if he scooched over. Charles said nothing. He felt kind of fuzzy and warm and distant enough to let it slide. The voice in his head that would normally scream at him not to allow something like this was only a whisper.

So, they waited in silence for the lamp to come to life, with Pickles’ head pressed against Charles’ shoulder, and Charles’ chin resting lightly atop Pickles’ head. They watched the yellow-orange bubbles flow as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Charles kept zoning out, thinking about the present moment. He could not  _ believe _ what his Christmas had turned out to be. Pickles enjoying his company was no longer speculation, a sweet but vain thought to help him fall asleep at night, but a proven reality. Of all the ways Pickles could be spending his time right now, he chose to spend it like this, right here, with Charles. That itself meant more than any words that could break their silence, and was better than any gift Charles could have received. 


End file.
